


Roman Holiday

by Celandine



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Sex, Community: daily_deviant, Holidays, M/M, Oral Sex, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-12
Updated: 2011-09-12
Packaged: 2017-10-23 16:47:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/252559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Celandine/pseuds/Celandine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charlie's holiday in Rome takes an unexpected turn.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Roman Holiday

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the August 2011 Daily Deviant, for which I chose the theme massage parlours, and to a limited extent dark wizards/witches. _Not_ to be confused with the Audrey Hepburn/Gregory Peck film of the same name, with which this has nothing in common but title. ;-) The pairing was chosen to thank a help_japan auction winner.

"Rome, eh?" Stefan tore off a piece of bread and popped it into his mouth.

"That's right," Charlie agreed. "I thought it would be nice for once to go on holiday somewhere that my family _aren't_ , you know?"

Stefan rolled his eyes. "I know. Look, I'm sure you can find plenty of company on your own if you want it, but there's a place I can recommend. It's a wizarding massage parlour, and they really do provide quite skilled massage. If you're interested, though, when you book the appointment be sure to say that you want the special services. I've written the name down for you."

He held out his hand.

Charlie took the scrap of parchment and shoved it in his pocket. He didn't expect to make use of the information, but he appreciated the thought. "Thanks, Stefan." He shoved his chair back from the table. "I'd better go; my Portkey leaves at ten and I still have to fly to Fliteşti."

"Have a great holiday, Charlie. We'll all look forward to hearing about it when you come back."

Charlie just grinned as he strolled out.

Rome _was_ a great deal of fun – perhaps a little too much so. After five days, Charlie was forced to admit glumly that he had overdone it a bit at the clubs. Fit though he was from working as a dragon keeper, he ached all over, and seemed to have pulled something in his lower back.

He fumbled through the heap of dirty laundry in the corner of his hotel room, and triumphantly pulled out the slip of parchment Stefan had given him. Time to make a Floo call.

Luckily the witch at the other end spoke English, although she confused Charlie for a moment when, after his request to include the special services, she asked if he preferred a masseur or masseuse.

"What?" Charlie didn't quite understand the word in her Italian accent.

"A man or a woman to give the massage? We have only one opening tomorrow with a masseur," she said, running her quill down the columns in her calendar. "So I cannot offer you any choice in appearance if you prefer a man."

"I do, and that's quite all right," Charlie assured her, "as long as he can relieve this ache in my back."

"Very well." She scribbled his name down. "Eleven o'clock. We recommend eating only a light breakfast."

"All right. Eleven. Thank you."

Too late, after he had ended the call, it occurred to Charlie that he didn't know if the masseur would speak English too. He hoped so. If not, he might not bother with the "special services" after all... although the bloke the night before last hadn't, and that had scarcely hindered them.

Charlie arrived at the massage parlour a few minutes before eleven. The same receptionist as yesterday smiled at him and handed him a clipboard with several forms on it.

"We need to know of any medical conditions, injuries, or allergies," she explained, and Charlie nodded.

The forms were easy enough. Charlie had no medical conditions, no allergies, just the twinges in his back that were bothering him. At the end of the form was a space to fill in any other information he thought might be relevant. Charlie thought for a moment, absently biting the end of the quill, then scribbled down, "Careful of the dragon on my left shoulder. Sometimes she bites."

He returned the clipboard. The receptionist glanced over the forms and nodded. "Please take a seat. David will be with you in a moment. Would you care for anything to drink in the meantime? Water, tea, perhaps pumpkin juice?"

"No, thank you." Charlie sat down, flicking glances at the several other clients in the waiting area, but careful not to stare.

He didn't have time to become bored by his people-watching, for within moments a slender young man was standing beside him, murmuring, "Charlie? I'm David, your masseur. Come with me." His accent was comfortingly British.

David led Charlie down a hallway and into a dimly lit room. A massage table occupied the centre of it: around the walls Charlie saw a chaise longue, another padded chair, a sink, and several cupboards. One of the latter must have held a wireless, as soft music filled the air.

"There's a sheet on the table," said David. "You can get undressed and lie down there -- on your stomach to begin with, please -- and just pull the sheet up over you. I'll step outside and be back in a few minutes."

Something about David seemed familiar, but Charlie could not put his finger on just why. He frowned slightly even as he nodded and said, "All right."

It didn't take long to strip down and toss his clothes on the chair, his shoes under it. He lay down on the table as instructed and wriggled himself until he was comfortable. The support for his face was covered in clean towelling and felt odd, but not bad.

Charlie had almost dozed off, lulled by the music and the herbal scents in the air, when there was a tap at the door.

"Yes?"

David asked, "Are you ready?"

"Oh yes."

Charlie only half-listened as David explained that he would massage Charlie's arms first, then his legs, then his back, folding the sheet back from each area as he worked on it.

"We don't want you to be cold," said David.

"No," Charlie mumbled.

"Then I'll have you turn over, and repeat the cycle on the other side."

Charlie felt David's hands peeling away the sheet from his left arm.

"Oh, that _is_ a lovely dragon."

A finger traced across Charlie's shoulder; he could tell that David was stroking the ridge of Elsa's back. With some difficulty he lifted his head to turn and smile.

"Be gentle with her and it'll be fine." He noticed that David had rolled his sleeves partway up his forearms, and caught the very edge of a design against one cuff. "Do you have a tattoo yourself?"

David flushed and tugged the fabric down. "Not one like yours. Please, lie back down and I'll get started."

Charlie sighed and relaxed against the table as strong warm hands smoothed the fragrant oil into the skin of his arms and legs, kneading away every last vestige of tension in the muscles there. He was pleased that David did not talk as he worked, although now and again he hummed under his breath, a not unpleasant counterpoint to the New Age-y music.

Random images and bits of thought flowed through Charlie's mind. It was almost as if he were dreaming, but he knew he was awake. Limp against the table, he let David manipulate his body however he liked, while Charlie's brain chased meaningless patterns. Suddenly something clicked into place, and he tensed.

"Shh, now," soothed David, putting his palms flat against the small of Charlie's back. "Did I hurt you? Your forms _did_ say that you were especially sore here."

"No, you didn't hurt me," Charlie muttered, and tried to relax again. He was successful enough that David said nothing more, resuming the massage with steady firm strokes.

Charlie waited until he had turned over and David was beginning to work on his right arm again. In one swift movement he sat up and grabbed David's left wrist, pushing up his shirt sleeve to expose his forearm fully.

Even though he had expected it, he gasped at the sight of the Dark Mark.

"Don't --" began David, too late.

Charlie held on with a tight grip, even though David was making no move to escape. "Your name's not really David, is it?"

The other man shook his head mutely.

Charlie squinted at him. "You're Draco Malfoy."

"Yes." Draco sighed. "I understand that you won't want me to finish your massage now, but I'm afraid there's no one else available. I'll go with you to the front desk to explain; you'll only be charged for the time you had already."

"Who said I don't want you to finish?" Charlie kept staring at the Dark Mark. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Elsa moving on his shoulder, peering at the tattooed skull and serpent. Her tongue flickered out, testing the air before she curled up again.

Draco's eyes widened. "I just assumed..."

"To assume makes an ass of 'you' before 'me'," said Charlie, and grinned. "That's what my brother Bill always used to say. Go on, then."

He released Draco's arm and lay back down. Draco swallowed. He pulled the sheet back up over Charlie's torso and began to massage his arm again, hesitantly at first.

Charlie's legs followed, but Draco paused before moving on to Charlie's chest. "Are you still going to want the special services?"

"Hell, yes." Remembering what he'd heard about Draco's behaviour at Hogwarts towards Charlie's siblings and others, the idea of paying for special services from him had an extra thrill to it. That he still bore the Dark Mark was icing on the cake.

The way that Draco massaged his chest was sensual, yet no more sexual than the massage elsewhere. Charlie didn't need it to be. His cock was already tenting the sheet that Draco had left carefully draped across his groin.

At last Draco stopped, resting one hand lightly on Charlie's stomach. "What kind of special services would you prefer?"

"What are my options?"

"Manual services or oral, or a combination of both."

The matter-of-fact way he said it made Charlie chuckle. "No anal services?"

"There's an extra charge for those." Draco shrugged.

"What if I could do something about _that_?" Charlie indicated the Dark Mark, once again covered by Draco's sleeve. "Would that be worth some extra services?"

Draco's laugh was bitter. "There's nothing you can do about it, believe me. You think I would have kept it otherwise?"

"You might be surprised. Roll up your sleeve and put your wrist against my shoulder. No, my left shoulder."

He reached with his forefinger to stroke Elsa's head. "Elsa, sweetheart. Time for a meal."

Elsa lifted her head free of Charlie's skin.

"Circe's tits!" Draco began to move his arm away, but Charlie grabbed it and held him still.

" _Don't_ startle her."

"H-how is she doing that?" Draco swallowed hard, his face white.

"Elsa is patterned after a Norwegian Ridgeback that I helped care for my first year at the preserve. She was very old, and when she died, I was allowed to take a little of her blood. I had the tattoo artist mix it with the inks he used." Charlie softened his voice, pitching it a little higher, and crooned, "Come on, Elsa. You can eat all you want; if you don't finish this snack today, I expect Draco will let you have another go some other time." He looked back at Draco as Elsa moved, only her hindquarters and tail remaining on Charlie's skin. "It will probably feel a little odd."

"Just a little," said Draco in a strangled voice. "How did you find out that she could do _this_?"

"By accident. I was with this bloke who had a stag tattoo across his chest. We fell asleep, and when we woke up the whole hindquarters of the stag was gone. I don't let her feed like that very often, though, because she gets a bit bigger each time she does. The ink apparently gets added to hers. Luckily she doesn't seem to get _hungry_ ; she just enjoys it when she has the chance."

"I see." Draco said, taking a deep breath but holding his arm absolutely still. Elsa had already consumed nearly a third of the Dark Mark. "Thank you. I really owe you for this."

"Yes, you do." Charlie caught Draco's gaze and held it until he felt Elsa sliding, satiated, back onto his shoulder. He glanced down. "Not a bad job, even if she didn't quite finish."

There were still a couple of stray lines and blotches embedded in Draco's skin, but no one would have been able to guess what had once been there. Draco drew a shaky breath. "Right. Now. What services do you want?"

He was clearly trying desperately to return the situation to something approaching normality. Charlie pondered. On the one hand he loved the idea of pounding into Draco's arse, seeing the scion of the ultimate in pureblood bigotry writhing under him, but on the other hand he actually preferred to bottom. Finally he decided, "I want you to fuck me first -- I like it pretty rough, just so you know -- and then suck me off after you've come yourself."

"Are you sure? I mean, never mind, of course you know what you want." Draco crossed to the door and checked to be sure it was locked. He fumbled with his trousers and left faint oily fingerprints at the waistband before he got the zip pulled down, but the rest of his clothes quickly followed.

"The chaise is probably better for this," he said, and took Charlie's hands to lead him over. A splash of oil in Draco's palm, and it was wrapped around Charlie's throbbing cock. Only for a few strokes, but his technique was good enough to leave Charlie panting.

"Do you prefer to be on your knees, side, or back?" asked Draco as his hand fondled Charlie's bollocks and slid back until a fingertip pressed lightly over his arsehole.

"Side." Charlie stretched out on the chaise accordingly, his upper knee raised toward his chest.

Well-oiled fingers probed him, opening, stretching, teasing the sensitive nerves, until at last Draco's cock pressed into him, warm and firm and just what Charlie craved.

"Rough, I remember," Draco whispered, breath hot against Charlie's neck, and began to ride him. Fuck, but he was good, with an uncanny ability to sense just the right amount of vigour to use, the right angle to take, pushing Charlie to the edge between pleasure and pain that brought all sensation to a spiralling peak and held it there for longer than Charlie would have dreamed possible. If he hadn't been so desperate by then to feel Draco's mouth around his prick, Charlie might almost have wept with the loss of it when Draco finally came and pulled out of Charlie's arse.

Draco's mouth closed over him, to his indescribable relief. He had rolled onto his back to give Draco access, and Draco knelt on the floor beside the chaise, his pale hair hanging down, curtaining his face as he sucked. Charlie brushed back the loose strands and tucked them behind Draco's ear so that he could see the way his cock poked into Draco's cheek as it slid in and out between his lips. He groaned when Draco began to fondle his bollocks.

"Fuck, yes, oh yes..."

Draco's throat was tight around the head of his prick and Draco's lips and tongue and fingers seemed to be everywhere at once, kissing and licking and stroking, urging him, encouraging him, sweet torment rising until the orgasm tore through him and he spilled deep into Draco's throat.

Without a word Draco rose and fetched a warm damp towel. He cleaned Charlie thoroughly, using a second towel to remove the last traces of the massage oil, all the while silent. It was Charlie who finally spoke first.

"Thanks," he said roughly, "I enjoyed that. Just what I wanted."

"I'm glad." Draco looked down, twisting the towel in his hands. "And thank _you_ again. For having your dragon get rid of the Dark Mark."

Charlie shrugged. "No trouble."

He began to pull on his clothes without waiting for Draco to dress and leave first. Draco looked surprised, but followed suit. As he was reaching for the handle to the door, Charlie stopped him.

"Draco."

"What?"

"I'm in Rome for a few more days. Are you allowed to make dates with clients? Would you like to have dinner tonight?"

Charlie couldn't quite believe he was asking Draco out, despite how good the sex had been, but something in him wanted to talk to Draco, find out what had happened since so that he wound up in a wizarding massage parlour in Rome. He waited for an answer.

Draco's mouth had fallen open. He closed it, swallowed, and said, "Yes, we are. And yes, I would."

"Good." Charlie grinned. "I'll meet you at seven o'clock, in the Piazza San Pietro."


End file.
